


Throwing a Lifeline

by nightfalltwen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror, Community: hp_drizzle, Counselling, F/M, HP Drizzle Fest 2019, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 09:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20423849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightfalltwen/pseuds/nightfalltwen
Summary: After an accident during a raid kills a number of aurors, Harry withdraws from work and his friends. Pansy is approached at her counselling clinic and asked if she can try to help him work through all of it.





	Throwing a Lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> I did change up the pairing from the original prompt. Only because I was feeling more Harry-ish with this one than Ron. Big thankyous to **L** for looking it over and finding my words that were real words but not the right words so spellcheck didn't want to underline them.

They should have known better. 

Storms had raged over England during the unusually hot and very wet spring were becoming increasingly more violent as the humid weeks dragged on into the very beginning of Summer. Something in the air, namely the electric charge (so said Hermione over dinner one night), had brought about more instances of accidental magic than the obliviators could handle. Imagine everyone blowing up their Great Aunt Marge multiplied by a hundred. The number of 'strange occurrences' being reported on the muggle news was increasing too. The muggles were noticing. It was affecting everyone and although Hermione had tried to explain the science behind it all, no one was interested in figuring out the cause but focused on mitigating the damages.

Aurors and hit wizards alike were pulled off non-essential cases to look after keeping the exposure at a minimum. That left Harry and Ron with a skeleton crew in the Auror department. And by skeleton, that meant himself, Ron and two other experienced Aurors, and a handful of juniors. It was certainly not enough for a full scale containment of rogue dark wizards. Most of the juniors hadn't even seen real action beyond the training arena and the whole situation didn't sit well in Harry's stomach.

So when the alarm sounded, they headed off to the uninhabited island of Staffa. To Fingal's Cave. It was where the Carrows, and the few straggling dark wizards they had managed to round up, had set up camp. Harry could see why. The position and shape of the cave made it nigh to impossible to ambush and the basalt columns that made up the location shielded most magic from detection. It was only a slip up that had alerted the Ministry. Some underling must have hexed something too close to the mouth of the fissure and it popped up on their alerts.

And the Aurors were dispatched.

To say that things went pear-shaped was putting it lightly. The black clouds roiling above the Hebrides should have been a warning. The way Harry's skin pricked and the hairs stood up should have been another. The crackle and boom first heard in the distance and quickly rolled in over the skirmishing wizards should have made them more cautious.

But spells were flying too fast. Harry was shouting at Ron, but he wasn't sure if it could be heard over the roar of the storm. The Carrows threw dark curses from the mouth of the cave and, to Harry's horror, the lightning was just as fast. It wrapped itself around the dark spells and shattered them into pieces. Pieces that were almost impossible to deflect.

Everything moved too fast and too slow simultaneously.

He couldn't stop the falling forms.

He couldn't save them.

Harry bolted upright. Over his head a lightbulb flickered brightly and then died, a rumble of thunder rolling across the ceiling. Yet another he would have to replace. He clutched at his chest and kicked his feet, the blankets tangled around his legs in a tight cocoon. Someone had sucked all the air out of the room. He was sure of it and he flung his arm out, looking for his wand, but was unable to find it. The blankets tightened around his legs and he kicked harder, rolling until he fell onto the floor, his hip hitting first. A pain shot up his torso, but it was secondary to whatever squeezed his heart.

Dragging himself over the floor, he reached the fireplace and flung a handful of powder into the grate. Green flames roared to life and he thrust his face into them.

"Parkinson!"

***

_A Month Earlier_

"I think we might want to stop here, Mister Collings," Pansy said, flipping the page on her clipboard and then setting the papers to float over to the proper filing cabinet. "You've reached a really good jumping off point for our next session and I think it might be good to see if your wife will join us."

"Oh I don't know if Agnes will agree to that," said the wiry man as he wrung the brim of his hat between his nervous hands. 

"We've talked about being more assertive, Mister Collings," Pansy said. "Make the attempt. If she says no, she says no. But at least you made the attempt."

Collings gave her a nod and got to his feet. Pansy watched him leave and filled out a note card to join the rest of his papers. She expected that when he showed up next week, his wife would be at home with the three cats once again. Agnes Collings ruled that house with an iron fist and there was little her husband could do but sadly agree to everything that she decided. Pansy didn't like the feeling of not being able to help someone and this situation felt just that. She made a note to mention to Felicity that booking marriage counselling appointments was something that she from which she wanted to move away.

"Pansy?" Felicity spoke from the door. "There's someone here for you."

Pansy looked up at her quiet secretary and then at the clock. "It's four," she said without further explanation. After two years as secretary, Felicity ought to know that nothing happened in this office after four.

"I know. But..."

"I go home at four, Felicity. I take my tea at a quarter past four. I don't stay later than four," she said, reaching for her cloak, her back now to the door. "This isn't something new."

"You can still have your tea at a quarter past four, Ms Parkinson. Either I won't be that long or you can join me for tea and biscuits at the shop next door."

The familiar voice sent almost a shiver down Pansy's spine. She froze at first and then slowly turned to face Minerva McGonagall who was standing behind her secretary. The older woman looked almost unchanged and Pansy was certain that the witch hadn't aged a day since the last time she'd been face to face with her before all the Slytherins had been led out of the school. A knot tied itself tightly at the base of Pansy's stomach and she did her best not to wilt under her old teacher's steely gaze.

"Professor," she said by way of greeting, waving off Felicity with a dismissive flick of her fingers.

Minerva stepped around the young secretary's retreating form and into Pansy's office. She peered over her spectacles and looked around the small room before taking a seat on the nearby sofa that Mr Collings had recently vacated. The two women stared at each other for a long moment and Pansy felt herself shrink a little. Irritation immediately washed over her. She had no reason to shrink. This was _her_ office and _her_ life, which was completely and utterly divorced from the girl she'd once been. She'd spent many years, first in education and then building her office and acquiring clients so that she could prove to everyone that she was not the girl she'd been all those years ago.

"He wasn't wrong," Minerva said, breaking the silence.

"Who wasn't?" Pansy demanded, wincing at her own tone.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," answered the older woman. "He asked that I come by and speak to you in person about his proposal. He's not gotten an answer."

Pansy's face heated as she thought of the stack of unopened, Ministry-sealed letters that were shoved into the bottom drawer of her desk. It wasn't the first time that Magical Law Enforcement had sought her out and she'd turned them down every time. She did not need the strain of trying to get into the head of a seasoned Auror. There were counsellors better than her who were more suited for the job. So Shacklebolt's letters had been put away every time.

"I should think that a _lack_ of an answer would be answer enough for the likes of the Ministry," Pansy said bitterly. She pulled the tie around her ponytail and ran her fingers over her scalp to loosen up her hair. "So why has he set the big wand on me?"

Minerva gave her a look, her eyebrows lifting over the frames of her square glasses. "Big wand..." Her lips twitched in what might have been a smile if her expression wasn't so set in its ways. "I wouldn't say that he set me on you, Ms Parkinson, but came asking for my input on how best to convince you to at least hear him out."

Crossing her arms, Pansy pressed her lips together and tried to ignore the grumble in her stomach. She'd missed lunch and had been sorely looking forward to tea. The older woman inclined her head to one side. Pansy's face went hot and she flattened her hand against her stomach, but before she could wave off any sort of question or offer, the Hogwarts Headmistress had gotten to her feet and as quick as that Pansy found herself following the woman to the shop next to her office.

"What are you going to say to Shaklebolt if my answer is still no?" Pansy fitted the little slotted strainer over her teacup and poured the assam over it, straining out the loose leaves. "Convincing Aurors that they're not bad people for the work they do isn't really my thing."

Minerva paused before releasing a lump of sugar into her cup. "Did you even read his requests before you rejected them, Ms Parkinson?"

Waving her hand, Pansy selected a rather large scone and dolloped a healthy amount of cream and jam on it before taking a bite. "Why else would he want my services?"

"Because he thinks you might be the only one to get through to him," said Minerva plainly.

"To who?"

"Harry Potter."

***

This is a mistake, Pansy thought as she stepped up to the front door of 12 Grimmauld. Behind her stood a decidedly irritated and untrusting Hermione Granger, one hand on the small of her back and the other resting on the advanced curve of her pregnant belly. Pansy had almost quit on the spot and written a very, nasty howler to both Shacklebolt and McGonagall when Granger, no Granger-_Weasley_, had shown up at her office all sharp looks and hair that she still hadn't been able to tame even after all these years. But before Pansy could put ink to parchment, the other witch had explained that the only way to get to Potter's residence was with someone who had access through the wards.

And of all the friends that Potter had not yet cut off, Granger (honestly, she wasn't going to spend all this time hyphenating the woman in her thoughts) was about the only one. Or Loony Lovegood. But Lovegood was out of the country on one of her imaginary beast expeditions and couldn't be reached until after the fall equinox.

So said Loony, at least.

"He's going to kick me out," Pansy said, hand poised to knock on the door.

"And unlike his friends, I imagine you won't listen to him," Hermione sniffed.

Pansy turned on her heel. "I don't know what you seem to think you know about the way I conduct my profession, Granger, but I am not a petulant child. I respect my patients. It's why my practice does as well as it does."

"Well... Just try to be a little more Pansy-like and maybe it'll trigger him back to being more like Harry again."

Pansy's fingers curled around the leather handle of the case she had brought with her. It was a good thing she wanted to remain completely and utterly professional (mostly to show Granger what was what) because a small part of her really did want to claw the judgy look right off the other woman's face. Past Pansy would have let that part of her bubble to the surface more easily and Granger probably would have been sporting a nice red imprint of Pansy's hand. But Past Pansy was not in control of this interaction. Current "Professional" Pansy was in control. And she was better than Granger. She was better than all of them.

"I don't like that you lot are using me to stage this intervention. Clients come to me," Pansy grumbled and thumped the side of her fist against the door. "I don't drag them into a session against their will."

The door opened a crack and instead of being face to face with Potter, Pansy found herself looking a bit lower and meeting the scowling face of a house elf. She took a small step back in surprise. Of all the people to own a house elf, she had never expected Potter to be the sort who would go for that sort of thing. He looked past her knees to Granger and made a grumbling and distasteful noise in the back of his throat before wiping his crooked nose on the back of his arm.

"Sir is taking no visitors today, Mu--" He paused and tugged angrily on his ear, holding back the word that Pansy knew he wanted to say.

"She needs to see Harry, Kreacher," Hermione said, her tone calm and even as if the elf hadn't nearly called her a mudblood.

Not even under the threat of death or dismemberment would Pansy admit it aloud, but she was a bit impressed by Granger's patience. The elf grumbled and groaned and little elf daggers shot out of his eyes at the woman behind her, but he opened the door wider for Pansy and backed up, giving a little bow as he did so. Under his breath he muttered something about welcoming one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight to "The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black." Pansy rolled her eyes at the pomp and circumstance, though a small part of her did wonder a little as to how someone like Potter, decidedly _not_ part of the Twenty-Eight, ended up with the family home of the Blacks.

"Parkinson, you need to know—"

Granger's voice suddenly cut off and Pansy turned to see that Kreacher had pushed the door closed, a rather smug look on his face.

Pansy decided that she rather liked this curmudgeonly old elf.

"Sir will not see you," he continued to grumble. 

"No, I suspect he won't," Pansy replied, cooly. "But regardless of that, you can show me to his room?"

Kreacher harrumphed and gestured to the stairs before slowly leading her up to the second floor. She'd heard rumours of the House of Black from her father who had visited it as a child during Walburga's lifetime, but she'd never been inside of it herself. To her surprise, it wasn't as run down as she'd expected, though she had a feeling that the old Black matriarch would be horrified at the decor, which screamed Granger at every turn.. Everything was neutrally repainted and there was even artwork on the walls. She prodded a painting as they passed, but it remained still. Muggle.

"Sir's room," the elf said once they stopped at a door, tugging on one of his long ears before disappearing from the hallway.

And with that, Pansy was left alone in front of a door with a potential client that had no idea she was there, nor had asked for her help. Her stomach turned. If this was to get out, she had a feeling her practice would suffer. Giving her head a shake, she turned slightly, opening up her case and pulling out a small business card and a pamphlet about her office. Just as she was reaching up to tuck both of them into the edge of the frame, the door flung open and was face to face with whom she could only assume was a haggard Harry Potter.

It was hard to tell with the scraggly beard.

He didn't even look at her at first. Instead, he took two enormous steps past her and leaned over the railing to the floor below, his hand gripping his chest.

"Kreacher!"

The elf appeared again, but before any action could be taken, a dark cloud tumbled out into the hallway and before Pansy had time to react, the rain began to fall. She let out a yelp and plunged her hand into the pocket of her coat, pulling out her wand and quickly casting an umbrella charm above her head. Most of the rain was deflected, but she could still feel a few drops rolling down her neck. A shiver ran up her back.

Kreacher did something. Pansy wasn't sure what it was, elf magic was a strange beast and she'd never really thought about researching it. The rain stopped. And as if they had never been there, the puddles all around their feet just vanished

Harry sank to the floor and leaned his forehead against the bannister, staring down to the floor below. As his breathing slowed and his thoughts returned from wherever they had been prior to bursting out of the room, his attention finally shifted to her. A frown appeared on his face, which was understandable. She was inside his house without his permission and at the request of outside parties. She had no business being where she was.

But she wasn't about to stammer out some nervous response to his steady gaze.

She held out the pamphlet and card. When he didn't take them, she looked around briefly and then found a little side table where she could set them down "I am aware you didn't invite me here. Shacklebolt and McGonagall did. And Granger led me to the door."

His eyes narrowed. "Why?"

That one word was loaded in many ways. Why would she want to help him? Why would she bother? Why would he accept the help of a girl who, in one panicked move, tried to give him over to Voldemort? Why?

She sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Because of the nature of my business. I do counselling, Potter. And rainstorms inside your house during a panic attack isn't the usual thing. But I am not going to insist that you talk to me." She gestured to the side table. "I don't like how they went about doing this, so my card is there. If you would like to talk, my office address is on the back."

With that, she turned and walked away, not necessarily fleeing in fear from him, but just calmly leaving. Thankfully Granger wasn't skulking about outside, waiting to catch her, and looking back toward the building, Pansy watched as the narrow Number 12 disappearing between 11 and 13. The wards were impressive on this old home. She wasn't surprised considering the family to which it had once belonged. Back at her office, Pansy dumped the case on a chair. She flicked her wand at a bookcase and the spell dissolved to reveal a door to the upstairs flat. Kicking her heels off and pushing them under her desk, she pushed open the door and pressed the light switch just inside.

And screamed, stumbling backwards into her office and knocking a stack of folders off a low cabinet.

"Sir is wanting Parkinson's daughter to come back. Sir doesn't want to leave the Noble House of Black right now," Kreacher scowled up at her and held out a hand. "Come with Kreacher."

***

It was a good thing that Pansy had no interest in analysing the foolish meanderings of a dream because as soon as the desperate "Parkinson!" cut through the images, the scene was lost and all that was left was a feeling that it might have been an odd card game with a faceless dealer or perhaps tea with a rather large palm tree, she wasn't quite sure. She sat up from her position on the sofa, the book she'd been reading before nodding off, slipping from her lap and onto the floor with a heavy thump. Staring back at her with a wild expression on his face, the green flames licking around his cheeks, was Harry.

Pansy looked at the clock. Half-past one.

"It won't stop, Parkinson," Harry said and Pansy could briefly see fingertips at his throat as he rubbed away imagined tightness and suffocation.

She slid off the sofa and sat criss-cross on the floor. "We've talked about coping mechanisms, Potter."

"It's worse this time," he said, his voice strained. "It's getting worse."

"It's not. You know that it's not. We've discussed this." Pansy kept her voice calm. "Ask yourself the questions and answer them."

He closed his eyes and pulled back from the fire and for a moment she thought that he'd disconnected the link between their two houses. But after a moment his face was back and she could see the edge of a card pass in front of the very bottom of the flaming image. A triumphant smile pulled at the edge of her mouth and she had to give her head a shake to keep it from spreading out fully. The index cards were something she'd given him halfway through the last few weeks with questions on them to challenge the catastrophizing and overestimating that was occuring in his head as well as helpful facts to remind him that he wasn't dying, that the pain in his chest was just his muscles tightening and that this was all just a hassle, not a horror.

Pansy didn't blame him though for drifting this far away. The accident on Staffa had taken a good number of good Aurors, but it hadn't been just that. It had just been the very last straw for Harry. Over the last few weeks she'd unearthed a number of things that she actually didn't know about Harry Potter, the boy who lived. She learned that he could still hear his mother screaming in his nightmares, that he'd seen his godfather die right before his eyes, and that—even after all these years—he blamed himself for every single friend he saw fall at the battle in the school.

Surprisingly enough, she also learned that he didn't blame her for what she'd said during the panic.

Pansy hadn't known what to do with that revelation, so she tucked it away and refused to enter it as part of their working relationship. After a moment, her attention went back to the questions Harry was asking and answering himself. 

"_How many times have I had these thoughts?_ Every time I wake up after seeing their faces as they fall. _How many times have I actually stopped breathing?_ Never. _Is it ever likely that it will really happen?_" He shook his head finally and let out a slow breath. "The chances of something bad happening are extremely small. It’s important to remind myself of that when I am having a panic attack."

She saw the cards disappear and his face relaxed.

"Better?" she asked.

"I think so," he said, meeting her gaze, the wild look in his eyes having subsided slightly.

"Alright then," she said and stood up. "Reach for the cards next time, Potter, instead of the Floo—"

"May I come over?"

Pansy froze and glanced down at the green flames licking along the grate. It was a bad idea to say yes. She kept the bookcase ward between her flat and her office strong for a reason. Clients did not cross her threshold, nor did she bring her personal life into her office. She truly didn't even really bring her personal life into her flat outside of needing to eat a meal or sleep. If she were to visit with Millicent or Theodore or even Draco when he wasn't prattling on about the next new thing that his milquetoast wife was doing with that boy of his, all of those visits took place at the respective houses of those particular friends. No one had visited her flat. And she was sure that she liked it that way.

It was a bad idea to say yes. The thought pulsed through her head again and Pansy knew that she was well within her rights to say no.

But the word "alright" came out of her mouth far too easily and the next thing she knew, Harry Potter was sitting on her sofa, looking both exhausted and wired at the same time.

Putting on a kettle seemed like the right thing to do and it was definitely something that she could control in this situation. Pansy was used to being in control in her office. She was used to being the one with the notebook and then file folder of medical history. She was not used to guests in her little flat seeing how she lived. The tiny studio flat was a far cry from the many rooms of Parkinson Manor; there wasn't even a door to close off her bed, only an old painted screen that she'd found in Muggle Chinatown that divided her sleeping space from the rest of the room.

Merlin, she hoped she put away her dirty clothes.

"Your flat is—"

Pansy cut him off, holding out a steaming mug of tea. "Please don't point out the problems with my home."

He looked at her for a moment before taking the drink and curling his hands around the warm ceramic. "I was going to say 'cosy'."

Pansy covered up the awkward feeling with a long sip from her own drink. Hissing a little as the scalding liquid burned her tongue.

Harry turned the mug in his hands a few times before taking a drink. "Twelve Grimmauld is too big," he said. "All those rooms and I don't know what to do with them."

Perching awkwardly on the sofa, sure to keep a good bit of space between them, Pansy rested the mug on her knee. She wasn't going to ask any questions. She wasn't. This wasn't a session. She wasn't being paid. Why should she even care about Harry Potter's comments. What was wrong with her? "Why do you live there?" she asked, the question escaping before she could stop it.

Harry's shoulder lifted slightly. "Sirius Black was my godfather and one of my dad's best friends. The house was left to me and I think everyone just expected me to live there after the war, so I did."

Pansy couldn't help but snort, leaning forward to set her mug on the coffee table. "You sound like every pureblood still living in the family manor after losing their parents in the war." She rolled her eyes, thinking about Parkinson House of which she'd washed her hands most thoroughly to her great Aunt Gertrude's utter disdain. "Can't live anywhere else. It's the family legacy. The history. Needs to stay in the family," she said, mimicking every excuse she'd heard from various surviving Slytherins.

Marcus was especially terrible. The Flint estate had been a crumbling mess _before_ he'd inherited it and now his vault hemorrhaged galleons in order to try and repair it.

"You don't pay anything for the place, do you?" she asked, looking at Harry. He shook his head. "Then close it up and go find something of your own that suits you more. No one is stopping you." Before he could respond, she turned on the sofa, hugging one knee to her chest as she spoke, her toes tucking into the space between the two seat cushions. "For that matter, why are you an auror? Because everyone expected you to be one? Did you actually _want_ to be one? Did you even consider another thing to do with your life? I mean... it's like the war never ended for you, Harry."

Pansy felt a flush climb up the back of her neck and she dropped her foot back to the floor, turning to sit properly on the sofa. She folded her hands in her lap trying to think of a way to back out of the conversation which had grown entirely too friendly and far too unprofessional. The silence in the room grew somewhat awkward and finally she glanced over at Harry who was giving her a rather curious look.

"What?" she asked, flinching at the exasperated tone in her voice.

"I think that's the first time you've ever called me by my first name," he said.

Pansy waved her hand at a non-existent clock. "It's the middle of the night, so you can't expect me to be at my best professionally, can you? I'm allowed to slip up occasionally when you're here in my flat and not in my office. Sorry if that crosses some kind of line for you."

A half smile ghosted his face. Pansy blinked in surprise. She couldn't remember him smiling at all during any of their sessions.

"I didn't say I didn't like it, Pansy."

"Oh."

He nodded his scruffy chin toward the mug. "Do you have anything stronger than tea?"

Pansy shook her head. "Even if I did, I don't think that drinking while you're still trying to get through what you need to get through is all that appropriate."

He puffed out his cheeks. "I suppose you're right."

"Of course I am," Pansy said, sitting a little straighter.

"You sound just like Her—"

Pansy cut him off. "If you complete that sentence with Granger's name, Potter, I'm going to make you regret asking to come here."

She wasn't sure what it was, either the hour of the night or the look on his face. Maybe it was the look on her face or just the expressions exchanged between them. But it started first as a bit of a chuckle-snort on Harry's part that led to a smile on Pansy's part and before she could even acknowledge what was happening, the pair of them were clutching their sides with laughter. Pansy couldn't remember the last time she'd truly felt her ribs ache from giggles and she had never once scene that kind of mirth and _freedom_ on Harry face.

Maybe that stupid saying about laughter being medicine had some truth behind it.

Harry pulled off his specs and rubbed the heel of his hand against his eyes before reaching for the tea.

Pansy leaned back slightly and snatched her wand off the little table beside the sofa, summoning a notebook from the office downstairs. She tugged the biro from the coil binding, having given up on quills and ink long ago when she'd treated a pair of hellspawn children who promptly exploded all of her inkpots during a terror of a temper tantrum. She drew some lines on the first clean page she could find.

"Tell me things you enjoy doing," she instructed. "It can't have anything to do with catching dark wizards or being the hero. You've done that already and it hasn't done anything but get you into this state. It doesn't make you happy."

This wasn't the usual way of doing things and she knew that she ought to make him come back during business hours for a proper session that she could properly bill him for the service. But Pansy wasn't sure if she could recreate this little open door in conversation and perhaps desperate times called for desperate measures. She could figure out the money thing another time. As he spoke and she wrote down the different ideas, Harry occasionally peeking over to see what she'd listed. She waved dismissively at him when he tried to say something was too silly for the list.

It was a start.

***

Pansy woke with a start, nearly falling off the sofa. She looked over and was startled to find that she had not woken next to Harry Potter. She'd not even woken next to the imprint of Harry Potter in the sofa cushions. The only evidence that he'd even been in her flat and that their impromptu goal setting setting session had taken place were the two mugs of cold tea sitting on the coffee table and the smudges on her hand from where the biro had blobbed a little on the notebook. Both of which were now sitting next to the mugs of tea.

The pages they'd worked on had been torn from the book and a hastily scribbled note of thanks was written in their place.

Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Pansy looked at the clock and then yelped, grabbing her wand and quickly fixing her appearance. She gave one last look to the mugs of tea before scurrying down to the office below, flinging herself through the wards on the hidden door and grabbing a file folder.

The door to her office creaked open and Pansy whirled around, no time to dwell on strange feelings about being left with just a small note of gratitude.

"I know you said I should ask Agnes to join us, Ms Parkinson, but you know how she is..." 

She forced a smile onto her face. "We can try again next time, Mister Collings," she said, gesturing to the sofa. "Come and tell me about your day."

***

If she'd been wearing heels, which most people expected of Pansy Parkinson, they would have been making sharp clicks on the pavement as she marched down Grimmauld Place. The wards she'd been granted access to shimmered as she approached the house. Three appointments he'd missed. And not just three here and there, no. Three consecutive appointments over the last four weeks had been missed and Pansy was not impressed.

She thumped her hand on the door.

"Potter, open up!" She thumped her hand again.

The door clicked and Pansy drew in a breath, fully prepared to lecture Harry about the importance of keeping appointments and that when he missed them without giving her notice, she had no way of recouping the loss with a different client. But the face that greeted her was not that of Harry Potter. Instead it was a tired-looking Ron Weasley with a red-headed toddler on his hip. The little girl made a lurching grab for Pansy, leaning forward and nearly toppling out of Weasley's arms.

Pansy took a small step backward out of the girl's reach. "Tell Potter I need to speak with him," she said, keeping her eyes on the sticky toddler hands waving about.

"He's not here," Weasley replied and shifted the little girl, who promptly started to fuss at being held for so long. "Rosie stop."

"What do you mean he's not here?" Pansy asked, knowing how much Harry was adverse to leaving his house these days. She leaned to the side and peered into the house.

To her surprise, she saw that the minimal artwork that had replaced the old portraits in the house were now covered with various sheets and boxes now lined the corridor that led deeper into the house. At one point she spotted Granger crossing from one room to the next, a stack of books floating behind her. Pansy's mouth opened and her thoughts started to fly about faster than she was able to sort through them.

"Where did he go?" she asked.

"You tell me," Weasley said, his tone annoyed. "You were supposed to knock some sense back into him and the next thing we know, he's sent a resignation letter to the Ministry and asked me and Hermione to close up the house. We can't get hold of him. So what did you do to him that made him suddenly vanish like this?"

Pansy rubbed her finger against the spot between her brows. "I can't breach privacy and discuss his sessions with anyone, but Harry is a grown man and he is free to make his own choices, Weasley."

"Right," Weasley scowled at her. "So am I."

Then promptly shut the door in her face.

Fighting down the urge to pound on the door again and give Weasley a piece of her mind, Pansy let out a small, frustrated noise before leaving. She wasn't going to give either one of them the satisfaction of having her lose her temper. But she was angry. At Weasley for being, well, Weasley and also at Harry for just up and leaving without telling her his plans. She'd thought their client/counsellor relationship meant more than just a scribbled note of thanks and then nothing. He hadn't even told her about quitting his job.

She stormed past Felicity, who had looked to be on the verge of passing along a message only to snap her mouth closed and shrink back in the chair. A brief sensation of remorse passed through Pansy. She didn't mean to make her secretary uneasy, but her irritation was stronger than the remorse and she didn't make any attempt at apologising.

Bloody Gryffindors ruining everything.

***

There was a soft knock at her office door and Pansy put a few more notes into the Underwood family's file, glancing only briefly at the clock.

"I go home at four, Felicity. I take my tea at a quarter past four. I don't stay later than four," she said, putting the file away. "We shouldn't have to go over this again."

"I can come back tomorrow if it's a bad time," a deep voice, certainly not Felicity, spoke from the door.

Pansy froze at the familiar voice, one she hadn't heard for over a month, and slowly put down her pen. She shuffled the papers on her desk for a long moment, her lips pressed tightly together. Part of her wanted to jump up and start scolding Harry for leaving her hanging like this for so long. That part of her also wanted to throw every single file folder she had at him. But the more reasonable side of her managed to overcome the temper, reminding her that she would need to pick everything back up and organize it again if she exploded in such a manner. Letting out a slow breath, she finally looked up. The surprise on her face must have been very obvious because Harry rubbed his clean-shaven chin awkwardly and gave her a bit of a smile.

"Figured I didn't need to hide behind the hair," he said.

Pansy said nothing, letting him fill the silence instead of her. Harry looked at her, but seemed to catch on to what she was doing and stepped further into the room to take a seat in the chair opposite her desk.

"First, I should apologise," he said. "I didn't explain what I was doing and I haven't been around much and—"

"You don't owe me an explanation," Pansy cut him off. "Though I do expect payment for the three abandoned appointments."

"I suppose I deserve that."

Pansy gave him a sharp look. "You deserve a lot more than just that, Potter. You vanished. Your friends wouldn't tell me what happened other than you quitting your job and packing up your house. I know I said it was silly to be living there when you didn't like it, but I didn't mean to just up and leave like that. Do you know what that was like? To not know if you had just left to go jump off a bridge? That it might have been my fault that you had gone off the deep end? Harry, I was _worried_!"

"I start teaching at Hogwarts in September," Harry said.

Pansy stumbled over her emotions, trying to tamp down the outburst she'd just had. "Sorry, what?"

"Hogwarts." He leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the desk. "Look, you were right. I was an auror because people expected that of me. But... I never liked it. So I thought about what I actually wanted to do. Me alone. Back in fifth year when we were all hiding from Umbridge and her squad, learning defensive spells, I _enjoyed_ that. So I talked with McGonagall—"

"Of course she would know where you were and not tell me," Pansy grumbled under her breath.

Harry paused and then smiled a little. "I talked with McGonagall and I start as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in September. I'll have a room at the school for the year and maybe find a bedsit in London during the winter and summer hols."

"I hear that job is cursed," Pansy said without thinking.

Harry let out a chuckle. "I plan on beating those odds. I've gotten through worse curses."

She stood there for a moment, a little unsure of what she wanted to do with herself. Quite suddenly Harry had solved all of his own problems and it seemed as if he didn't need her anymore. For some reason that didn't sit well with her. She'd found herself missing his sessions and it was awful and terrible of her to want him to continue coming by. It was terribly unprofessional of her to have these sorts of feelings about a client and she wasn't even certain how she could define these feelings. But she'd been friendly with Harry Potter for the last number of weeks. It was something she'd never expected and never knew that she actually would find herself enjoying. 

"It's quarter past," he said, breaking through her thoughts.

"Hmm?" Pansy looked at him, confused.

Harry pointed to the clock. "Quarter past. Time for tea."

"Oh," she said, disappointed. He must have been looking for a reason to excuse himself.

He put his hand on the doorknob. "So where are we going?"

She paused briefly, annoyed that she kept getting surprised by him and took a moment to find her response. She raised her chin and reached for her purse. "What makes you think I'm going to share my secret tea spot with you, Harry?"

"Call it a hunch." A lopsided grin appeared on his face. "I might not be actively employed as an Auror anymore, but I still have the instincts." He gestured to the door and then pulled it open. "Would it help if I offered to buy?"

"I will pay for my own tea, thank you very much," she said, marching past him. Halfway down the corridor, she looked back and realised he was still standing at her office. "Well? Are you joining me or not?"

***

_Following June_

"You could have apparated," Pansy announced, dodging yet another family greeting their child after a long school year. "You didn't have to make me wait for you at King's Cross."

"To be fair, I did expect you to say no," Harry shrunk down his case and waved goodbye to a pair of Hufflepuffs, still in uniform despite the hot weather.

"And have to listen to you whinge about how I left you cold and alone on the platform? I think not."

"Whinge?"

"Yes. _Whinge._"

She reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of newspaper clippings. A few of them were sticky from Rose Weasley's latest jam escapade, but she wasn't going to get into that or her tolerating friendship with the Granger-Weasley clan. How that came about was beyond her sometimes and she couldn't even figure out a way to explain it properly to anyone else she knew. She held them out to Harry and then wiped her hand on a tissue once he'd begun to sort through the advertisements.

"I didn't know what your budget was for bedsits, so I just found a bunch of different ads."

He leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Still hesitant to take me up on that offer?"

"Finding a place together? Are you mad? It's already bad enough that I broke all sorts of ethics by getting into a relationship with a client..."

Harry laughed. "I haven't been your client for almost a year, Parkinson." He boldly reached out and took her hand. "I have, however, been your boyfriend for a good six months."

She looked down at their linked fingers and then back up to his face, raising her eyebrows. "And after only six months you're assuming that we should live together. Bold, Potter. Very bold."

"I'm a Gryffindor."

"I am _distinctly_ aware of that." Pansy looked around at the other families on the platform, none of whom were paying much attention to them. "I can't even make a scene. Do you realise how that would damage my business prospects." She put her hand on her hip. "I think I might hate you just a little."

"But not enough to say no to dinner?"

"No. Not enough for that."

Harry smiled. "Good. We can revisit the whole me on my own in a lonely and cold bedsit over a nice meal at the Leaky Cauldron."

Pansy tilted her head. "I said we could have dinner. I didn't say I wanted to go _out_ for it."

"Oh."

A smirk tugged at her lips and she squeezed his hand. "That's right, Potter. Oh."

"What happened to you calling me Harry?"

She stepped closer. "You get to be called Harry when you're back in my good graces."

Harry gave a nod and then they both disappeared from the platform, a trail of fluttering newspaper advertisements left in their wake.

**Author's Note:**

> This story/art is part of an anonymous fest: drizzle 2019. Reveals will be in mid-october. Please do not repost anywhere else without explicit permission from the original creator.


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